Waterdeep Nights
by Danrilor
Summary: When the sun goes down on the City of Splendors what kind of people crawl out of the woodwork? The story of one night in Waterdeep. PLZ R


**Waterdeep Nights**

_This is an irrelevant little story I wrote a long time ago. It is rated PG-13 for a variety of inappropriate material. The setting is the Forgotten Realms after the time of troubles and before the 3rd Edition revision. Please read and review!_

The days of Waterdeep were the all-purpose fuel for campfire tales of half the realms. Of the things seen and unseen, the stories of the days of the jewel of the north spread from mouth to mouth and bard to bard throughout all of Faerun. It was said that one or two had even crossed the language barrier and crossed to the lands of Zahkara and Kara Tur, perhaps oven the Maztikan shores. The days of Waterdeep were the tales of magic and mystery that fascinated the world at large, and became the stories told to children as their eyes grew bleary and their eyelids heavy. The days of Waterdeep became the stories of heroism. The days of Waterdeep became stories of infamy. The days of Waterdeep became legend.

The nights, however, were another story altogether...

The night fell softly on Waterdeep, the twilight lasting nearly an hour after the setting of the sun and the darkness settling like a cloud of dust rather than falling like an anvil. The sparkle of the light on the harbor did not give way, though, as lanterns and torches were lit by the thousands to illuminated the City of Splendors. As one class of people turned to their beds, another class of people rolled out of theirs. As one shift of merchants locked their shops and headed home, another shift opened their stalls and rolled out their carpets. As one set of shingles was taken down another set was set up. The city did not miss a step in the great dance, for Waterdeep was a city far too busy to deign to sleep. Not for a moment was the street silent of the sound of treading feet.

Beneath all this, though, one individual stood in a dank cellar and a transformation began. He pulled on the black silken body-suit that covered many scars, and in the mirror the change began. Black leather boots and gloves of a remarkably similar hue were so thin and supple as to not hinder dexterous fingers and toes. A dark gray cloak of shimmering neutrality draped over his shoulders. No armor touched his frame, for his faith went with the ring that was on the third finger of his left hand. His confidence was in the black metal bracers that he clasped over his wrists. He was going into danger with an open hand, but he would be far from unarmed. Into concealed pouches went a few daggers, a scattering of darts, and a blowgun with needles. On one solitary hip a long, thin dirk slid into a loosely hanging sheath, warning those that would think him unarmed.

Into a belt with four pouches went the rest of the nasty tricks. Caltrops, a hand crossbow with various bolts, powders to temporarily blind the unsuspecting and throw off the smell of tracking beasts. A length of chain weighted on both ends to bludgeon, a vial of a sleeping poison directly from the Underdark, a concealed stone blessed with magical light, a bola and lasso to capture his foes, a grappling hook, and a vial of good firewine. He picked up the black cloth from the corner of his war chest, pulling it over his head and tying it in the back, making certain that it was secure and that he could easily see through the eye holes. He took a deep breath and looked in the mirror, for he was no longer the man that he had been. Before him stood the Laughing Rogue of Waterdeep. He walked over to his cavalry broadsword, where it hung on the wall of his hideout. He smiled and he handled it, the familiar weight assuring him. But he decided to leave it on the wall this night, for what was life without adventure?

* * *

"You have to be joking." The fat man said with a gargling voice like gravel in an aquarium.

"No, I am not! I guarantee a sizable return on your investment!" The sweating and trembling cutpurse nearly groveled from his place at the foot of the steps.

"Tell me one more time, lest I not trust the soundness of my hearing." The fat man growled.

"If you give me the gold I need to pay off Krigless, and pay a few minor expenses, I will discover the identity of the Laughing Rogue of Waterdeep for you!" The sweating cutpurse nearly stuttered.

The fat man was silent for a second, looking from the 300 pound half-ogre thug on his left to the dusky skinned and dark eyed Half-Drow swordsman on his right. Then he looked straight ahead to the little man, barely more than five and a half feet and surely not weighing more than a dry cantaloupe rind were it magically grown to that size. The cutpurse was small and dirty, and had a reputation for fighting like a girl of six winters. It was one said that Vorcam the witless Kobold Brawler once bested him in unarmed combat after having passed out from too much drink and fallen down a flight of stairs. Stupid, also, in that he once attempted to run a money laundering outfit out of a wash-house and ended up delivering nearly 2000 gold pieces back to people expecting to find their slops and knickers.

Then a great rumbling laugh erupted from his gelatinous, hairy, egg-shaped, harpoon-scarred belly as he nearly fell backward on his specially reinforced gilded chair. The thought that this reedy waste of a man could find out a secret that had baffled the entire city since the end of the Time of Troubles was so amusing that his laughter caused drool to trickle from the corners of his flabby jowls.

"Kill him." The fat man commanded the Half-Drow with a wave of his hand, his laughter continuing.

The dark-eyed half-breed, with irises so black as to have no visible pupils, smiled a cruel grin and moved forward, pulling forth his many-barbed short sword, the distended diamond shape of the blade ending in three sharp points of three-pronged flesh-tearing agony. His name was Kraal, and - as the glimmering symbol of Loviatar on his belt illustrated - his only joy was the infliction of pain.

"Rashan! No!" Jaken begged the fat Calshite "How could you be so blind! With the identity of The Rogue, how much would you save every month or every year from what he steals from you? How many assassins have failed you? How many magiks have not hit their mark? How many creatures have you sent only to have them disappear?" the cutpurse groveled as he backed away from the slowly oncoming blade.

The mirth from the fat man stopped with a thud from deep inside his throbbing gullet, as if it were a chirping bird that struck a brick wall. "Hold" He directed the Half-Drow.

"I knew that you would see reason..." Jaken began.

"Kugin... break his arms and legs before Kraal has his fun. But before that bring me his tongue." The fat man pointed to Jaken, twirling his finger in a circular motion.

The half-ogre smiled a rotten-toothed grin and cracked his knuckles.

"Oh sweet Illmatar no!" Jaken nearly screamed as the huge paw of the half-ogre engulfed nearly the entire front half of his shirt.

The half-breed monster took the scrawny pickpocket from his feet before slamming him to the wall, foul breath puffing into Jaken's unfortunate face. He drew a rusty single-edged belt knife and held it in front of the rogue's face.

"Hold." Rashan said again, and the disappointment hit Kugin's monstrous features like a falling brick.

"I knew that you were going to see..." Jaken began.

"I didn't tell you to use a knife." The fat man yawned, cutting him off.

The ogre grinned once again as he sheathed his blade.

Filthy fingers jammed forth in an effort to shove the hand between Jaken's clenched teeth, though the beast fully intended to go through them in the event that they were too much trouble.

"Oh, Rashi..." a woman's voice echoed through the audience hall, causing the half-ogre's eyes to roll.

The fat man made a motion with his hand to suspend any roughhousing, and the voluptuous woman that the voice belonged to strolled into the room. She was dressed in a variation of a common barbarian garb; nothing but a fur halter, skimpy bottom made of gold mail, and leather straps holding the skimpy outfit together. Her body did not seem like a product of natural genetic luck, but little regarding its authenticity was on the minds of the men in the room. Even the trembling Jaken was transfixed. Without so much as acknowledging their states she absent-mindedly twisted the stone in the ring on her pinkie finger. Her outfit wavered like translucent mist, momentarily taking the breath from the men as a greater glimpse of her figure came to view before becoming concealed by a relatively more demure and certainly more formal garb. She sighed as the magical clothes formed and tightened a corset and bustle around her body. The men realized how much the clothes conspired to enhance her figure and the cut of the dress still did not leave much regarding her chest to the imagination.

It was a long moment before the breathless cutpurse noticed the hair or eyes of the woman, as some part of his mind reminded him that her features were those of a relatively plain and unremarkable brunette. Such was the power of her other attributes. The fat Calshite seemed to forget all of his anger and cruel intentions as the woman approached him and sat on the knee that served as his lap in lieu of the true one concealed by his swollen belly.

"Rashi, who is your new friend?" She said sweetly.

"This, my wonderful Leticia, is Jaken of the Warrens, the man on the spot in Waterdeep." The rotund southerner said it with an unusual amount of pride and hyperbole for a man planning his dismemberment only brief moments ago.

"He is a cute little man. Can you tell Kugin to stop playing so roughly with him?" She said with a slight pout.

"Of course. Put him down, Kugin." The southerner said absently, smiling at his woman with a mouth full of golden teeth. "We have much to talk about with him."

The thief hit the ground like a sack of flour, but did not even find the brazenness to groan for fear that it would shatter yet another moment of seeming salvation. He held his tongue in check and swallowed nervously after taking his feet. He pretended to cradle and rub his slightly injured hand, a gift from his creditor Krigless, and in doing so reached inside the bandage around his hand and with one finger began to inch forward the handle of the tiny razor. With one pull the blade would slice through the gauzy fabric and he would have a very tiny but wickedly sharp surprise for his aggressors should they get belligerent again. He carried no other weapon.

"I'm going to the other room now, to let you finish your business, but I don't want your boys playing too roughly..." She nearly scolded.

"Of course not, my dear." The fat man smiled his glinting gold smile.

The woman left the room just as blithely as she hand entered it, and the silence did not last as long as expected as the fat man clapped. "So, my little thief, tell me exactly how much your creditor needs to spare your little life."

Unable to believe it, Jaken simply told the truth "Three hundred gold pieces."

"Hmmph. Chicken feed." The fat man harrumphed. "Pay him."

Somewhat disappointed, the Half-Drow pulled out a sack of gold and threw it at the feet of the thief, its drawstring opening on impact and coins spilling fourth. The thief was upon the gold like a hungry man upon a loaf of bread, busily stuffing the gold into the sack while profusely thanking Rashan in nearly incoherent babbling. His disbelief was profound.

"That should more than cover the debts you have run up, but now you must take care in how you use the balance, for it is all you shall have from me regarding your 'expenses.' Use it to find the identity of the Laughing Rogue and you will live. Find it not, and you will look upon the meal of a condor with great envy after my men are through with you."

Forgetting his razor, forgetting everything, the Thief gave barely coherent assurances and dashed out the door. Leaving behind two rows of golden teeth still coldly smiling in the shadows.

* * *

They had terrorized the docks in the last month without challenge, laughing in the face of the watch in their attempts to stop them. The magical rings that they had taken on all of their robberies allowed them to teleport out of every trap that the watch had set for them and instantly abscond from every caper and every crime that they committed often before the watch could even be informed. They had laughed early and laughed often, but this night they would find who it was that had the last laugh. They had not known that someone had been watching and waiting, stalking them silently in the edges of the darkness. When they awoke from their sleep, their prized rings had been taken from their fingers in their sleep, and all around them it echoed. The sound of a man's laugh mocking them and their efforts. As they ran from their beds and took to their weapons it filled their ears and crushed their hope. They scrambled for what weapons they could find, but out of the shadows he came like a laughing apparition, a twirling chain knocking aside Higer's knife thrust and numbing his meaty fist. Sabaro's chin collided with the ground as the snap of a bola fastened his feet together in mid-stride. A devastating hay-maker sent Dacob to the ground and a massive boot landed on his Adam's apple before his club could connect. One by one they fell to a flurry of blows. The last thing all of them heard before darkness set in was the guffaw of the Laughing Rogue of Waterdeep.

The last laugh.

* * *

It was in Jaken's best interest to run, not walk, to Krigless' accounting house to make good his debt. He had done so with great speed for such an unhealthy looking sort, and it was doubtful that even the best of athletes could have done better. Now, as he squatted in a nearby alleyway and looked at the remnants of Rashan's generosity in his hand, he knew that he was in trouble. 15 gold pieces may have been enough to buy a fine sword or feed him for a great long while if he were frugal, but it would not be enough to be of any help in finding the identity of the Laughing Rogue. Perhaps if it were a hundred, or even fifty, he could hire a mercenary or bribe a guardsman to participate in his plan, but as it was his plan was shot. Now, all that he had done was exchange one vicious creditor for another. This one perhaps more vicious if such a thing were possible.

Now the only way that he could save what was left of his skin was to find the identity of the Laughing Rogue, but he did not have any idea how. It was a desperation tactic, and risky given how the Calshite had initially reacted, to offer the man exactly what he wanted most. It was a machination that had borne bitter fruit, as he was in the worst predicament that he could have ever imagined. He could not flee far enough to escape Rashan. The man had agents throughout Faerun, and the spindly man could not possibly escape from the continent without the man noticing. In troubled times past he had fled to Skullport until trouble blew over, but this time it would be like walking off of the frying pan and into the fire. He had made enemies in Skullport that would be more then glad to serve his brains with a sauce made from his spinal fluid at their dinner table. There was nowhere that he could go.

There was only one person who might help him...

* * *

_Wifff--pluggg!_

The five inch blade sunk up to the point of curvature in the hardwood and vibrated with the shock of the contact, nearly hitting a musical note before it was plucked from the wood again and twirled in dexterous fingers.

"Not bad, Deneri." The masked man said flippantly. "Perhaps next time you attempt to skewer me you shall come within the length of a horses hind end."

Deneri Daggermaster fumed. The master of the blade and sometimes assassin had never been matched with either dagger nor dirk, and this masked fool was making him look the fool in front of the entire customer base of the inn named The Dark Portal. He had continued to dodge, duck, deflect, and even catch his most accurate throws.

"Try this fork Deneri!" A scrawny merchant howled in laughter "Methinks you have thrown every other bit of cutlery that this Inn possesses!"

Deneri yanked yet another blade from beneath his voluminous scarf and threw it in a beeline for the skinny merchant. The man's eyes bulged nearly from his skull as the tip of the dagger pinned the crotch of his baggy pants to the chair he was sitting in. The fabric around it swiftly was patterned with a patch of moisture as the thin man sputtered.

"Have no fear, ladies and gentlemen!" Deneri said with pure showmanship, hiding his frustration beneath the facade of a performer "For I have yet to draw a drop of blood, and the wetness you see must surely be of another cause."

The laughter of the customers did much to lift his spirits as much as it humiliated the skinny merchant.

"That must be your problem" The Laughing Rogue crowed "You spend too much time throwing at immobile targets and not enough time with the moving ones!"

Deneri still stared at the Rogue and took his measure, trying to find a weakness somewhere in his countenance. The Laughing Rogue of Waterdeep was a local fixture. Nobody knew his motivations, yet none save ne'er do wells had ever needed to fear him. He came from the night, struck like laughing lightning, and disappeared back into the blackness. Yet he was not of the night. Not a specter that seemed like a part of the blackness. It was easy to see how he came from it, though, clothed from head to foot in black. A black sash served as his mask, covering his skull and tied into a flowing knot from the back. Only his steel gray eyes and the area beneath his nose were visible, and there was no telltale facial hair on his chin to help identify him. He wore no armor, although his black bracers seemed to be metallic. He had no visible weapons, but Daggermaster was certain that he had them on his person. The thing that troubled him was why he had not used them in his defense yet.

Daggermaster, on the other hand, had never been big on concealed weapons. A visible weapon in his mind was more of a deterrent. Violence was always better to be deterred to a time and place of ones choosing, and his bandoleer of daggers - although mostly empty at this point - served its purpose admirably. His studded leather armor and it's spiked joints had also shown others that he was not to be trifled with. His curly platinum blonde hair at odds with his dark eyebrows and rugged scar on his cheek gave him an inexplicably uneven look that tended to deflect attention as much as it attracted it. His unusually big hands had a great dexterity, and he demonstrated that with each hurl of his dagger, but the quickening figure before him was harder to hit than any target he had encountered this side of a butterfly. His service to the Flaming Fist and other mercenary bands was tattooed on his flesh, although not visibly at the moment it was still evident to all. He was sure that his training and experience gave him an advantage over this bouncing clown.

The entire place had the smell of new pine and old wine, the atmosphere of merriment a most odd contrast to the dual to the death that was occurring. Although most of the patrons - as well as the staff on hand - believed that this was simply an entertainment exhibition, Deneri had every intention of killing the Laughing Rogue. The infuriating mystery man had barreled through the shutters of the inn's alley-side window and disrupted a very sensitive deal that Deneri had spent a season setting up. On the first sight of the infamous vigilante the buyers had pulled up their stakes and quietly fled the establishment without a word. It was only two of many such defections that had gone unnoticed in the inward and outward flow of people. The Daggermaster then decided that it was time to show up the show-off once and for all, silencing that grating laugh and making him the hero of the underworld.

Deneri was certainly the man for the job, for even though he smiled and laughed his customary "ha-HA!" at every evasion of pointed death, the Laughing Rogue had rivulets of sweat soaking the inside of his skull-covering mask. The weight of strain and fatigue was pulling at every limb. He had trained long for moments like this, though, and faced much worse ones. He had not taken any offensive action against the man yet, for he knew of no crime that he had committed. Unlike the watch of Waterdeep, he was not one to take an assault on himself as a sure sign of guilt. After all, he had an enormous price on his head that got bigger every time that he heard of it. While a vice, greed was not yet a crime. He had at first been content to let the man wear himself out, for a full battle in such a crowded and unstable locale would cause a bar fight that could very well mushroom into a riot. He had seen it happen before, so that was why he had chosen to announce "an exhibition of the skills of the great Deneri Daggermaster!" to stave off the possibility of a drunken brawl when the first dagger flew.

The humiliation and frustration had not yet been enough to deter the knife thrower, who the Rogue had recognized immediately. The man had no warrants on him, no indisputable crime linked to him, and worst of all no reward for him. The Rogue had not even come here looking for him. He had already apprehended his quarry for the night and left them bound and unconscious at a nearby guardhouse. He had actually stopped in for a drink, for he was curious about the service and had little or no time in his day to indulge himself without the mask. At night was when he did as he pleased, and that was what had gotten the masked man into this predicament. He would have liked to say that - had he wanted to - he could have dispatched the man easily, but the truth was that Deneri was a living monster with a dagger in his hand and perhaps avoidance was not as bad a tactic as it seemed. Still, he had to do something to end this charade before it became deadly. The crowd let out a hiss and then an exclamation of awe as the Rogue back-flipped out of the way of a whistling dagger then caught it behind his back.

"Damn it." Deneri cursed under his breath. The weapon had been magical, a dagger filled with magical venom that had never failed him before, and nearly impossible to replace by a man of his means.

"Gracious hosts and dear audience," the Laughing Rogue said with a trademark guffaw, leaping to perch on the windowsill from which he had come "I must confess that I have pressing business elsewhere, and it is my hope that you have enjoyed this performance."

_Oh no you don't_ Deneri growled inwardly, heading for the Rogue. He had run out of weapons to throw, but he would kill him with his bare hands if he had to.

"Goodnight!" The masked man laughed as he leapt through the waiting window, accompanied by the cheers of the entire inn, with the exception of one angry warrior. Deneri grabbed a belt-knife from a rough looking mercenary as he ran by, the man so drunk he would barely have noticed it even if his eyes were not fixated on the Rogue.

Choosing the door instead of the window, Deneri Daggermaster looked left and right before bolting though, but should have looked up. A lariat descended from the roof and tightened around his midsection, pulling his arms to his side and yanking him off of the ground. With a few heaving hand-over-hand pulls the Rogue hoisted the struggling man nearly twenty feet from the ground, less than an arms length from the edge of the roof. His kicking feet were not even visible from inside the inn, and nobody had noticed his hoisting.

"Damn you!" Deneri hissed through his teeth, struggling to yell it through his constricted chest. He tried to saw away at the rope with his stolen knife, but was hit with a face full of the blinding powder that billowed as a cloud from a hollow tube the masked man pulled from his forearm sheath.

"Garrgh!" Deneri howled as the Rogue tied off the rope and divested him of his knife "You Bastard! Your mother is Halaster's whore!"

The Laughing Rogue chuckled before kicking him in the face.

The blackness set in and the last thing that Deneri felt before the embrace of unconsciousness took him was a small pinprick as one of the Rogue's blow-darts hit his neck.

* * *

The fearful Jaken walked right under the kicking feet of Deneri Daggermaster as he entered the Inn, so lost in thought was he. The Dark Portal was made out to be a cross-town rival of the older and more respected Yawning Portal. He had recently caught wind of a dispute between the owners that would soon be taken before the Lords regarding the name and theme of the new establishment, but in the meantime there was nothing that could be done to forestall the opening of the Inn. The Grand Opening appeared to be in full swing to him, and he was disappointed to find that the hole in the center of the floor was significantly smaller than the great pit in the floor of The Yawning Portal. There were many that said that the hole went much deeper than that of the older establishment, though. That was probably why there was a man in a gold embossed blue robe standing next to the pit. Watch Wizards would probably be a necessity to fend off the things that crawled in the lower levels of Undermountain. The filthy rich adventurer that opened this inn professed to have more than enough gold to spare that he could afford to keep a Watch Wizard at the portal's side day and night.

At least, it seemed to Jaken, the owner made up for in flare what he lacked in originality.

The bar was somewhat subdued at the moment, with titters and low spoken conversation the only sounds other than poured drinks and uncouth slurping. Jaken could have sworn that he had heard the sound of raucous merriment when he was walking down the street toward the inn, and wondered idly what had become of it. He took one of the few spaces left at the bar and ordered an ale with one of the shiny gold pieces that he had left. He might as well spend it while he still was in one piece. He had no luck in enlisting any of his contacts in helping him without the money to grease the wheels. This, he felt, was going to be a very long night.

"Hello Dak." He said as the silent and inconspicuous gentleman that sat next to him.

The frilly dressing of the man and the gaudiness of his garb was a kind of camouflage, because Dakrevin was as through-and-through dirt-bag as they came. His money disguised his penchant for thievery as well as his constant whoring and vigorous pursuit of less willing maidens. For all the difference in their dress, Dakrevin was of his kind of people. He even put up with the informal name of "Dak" from the scrawny little alley-scrubber.

"So what is it that little bird told me about your needing my aid?" The frilly rogue asked arrogantly.

"You are the bottom of the barrel." Jaken said "No one else will or can help."

"What do you need, little fellow?" Dak said, smiling in his normal condescending way as he used his typical term of endearment for the slovenly pickpocket.

"If I do not discover the identity of the Laughing Rogue within the week I will be sleeping with the Sahaugin." Jaken said fearfully. "It was the price to pay off my debts, but now my life will be forfeit if I do not give the true identity to Rashan he will have me torn to shreds by his wererats!"

"If you are lucky." The foppish thief snickered "I heard the other day that the last person to take Rashan's money and not deliver on the deal was flensed to the bone by dung beetles and his skull fashioned into a chamber pot for Rashan's bathhouse."

The scrawny thief shuddered while Dak snickered and looked toward the open shutter that still swung in the wind.

"What are you laughing about?" Jaken nearly choked out.

"Just about coincidences." The fop said with a smile.

* * *

When Deneri woke up he was plagued with a large rush of blood to the top of his head. At first he thought that it was because of the poison that was on the blowgun needle, but he soon found that the world seemed upside down. Perhaps, he finally reasoned, because _he _was upside down! The gentle swinging and the soft wind against his face were deceptively soothing in the midst of such an untenable situation, where he was hanging so high that he could not even see the ground below him. Then he heard the sawing sound _srich-raww, scrich-raww, scritch-raw._

"Oh, you've got to be..." Deneri groaned.

"Finally awake?" The Laughing Rogue said with a smile "Good, because you still have a half-rope left of life."

"You low-down dirty son of a..." Daggermaster said through gritted teeth before he heard one of the rope strands snap with a taut _twang!_

"ha-HA!" The Rogue crowed.

"What do you want?" Deneri struggled as cold sweat ran the wrong way to drip from the unruly forelock that sprouted free of his hair like a dangling branch.

"Recognize this?" the Rogue said, holding the magically envenomed dagger in front of the dangling man's face.

"That's mine!" Deneri said with a demanding tone.

"If it was so precious to you, why did you throw it at my head?" the Rogue said with a mock-pout.

"Because I wanted it to kill you, you dolt!" the sometime-assassin growled.

"You seem unusually full of bravado..." The Rogue observed.

* * *

Six cups of ale had set back Jaken only a few silver pieces, but it had been sufficient to significantly intoxicate the scrawny thief. He walked with a clumsy gait, the small scrap of parchment in his hand with the information that he had needed from the Dakrevin The Dandy. He would have to find a way to sober up enough to take advantage of it before the night was through. As he walked across the footbridge that spanned the main aqueduct of Waterdeep, he did not even think to look up to the suspension arch. The dangling man that swung from the vertex of the arch went unnoticed as he continued on his path with a drunken single-mindedness. He checked his pouch to make sure that the remainder of his money was intact, and then checked other items. His lock-picks and other thieves tool were still intact and complete despite a variety of mishaps over the years. He had his magic dagger and a sling, both weapons chosen because they were easily concealed and quick to ready. He was skilled in the use of the short sword and had knowledge of the bow, but both of those weapons were too conspicuous.

Even though he went armed, he hoped that he would have absolutely no need of weapons where he was going.

The bolt hole that he approached was like most bolt holes occupied by thieves. It was dark, dank, out of the way of normal everyday traffic, and well guarded by subtle means. Unfortunately, this one was occupied by no thief. It was an inconspicuously square building with a slimy tiled roof. If nothing else, it had little chance of leaking. A huge oaken door guarded the residence as well as any guardsman could, but Jaken looked with suspicion at the two looming gargoyles. They looked out of place on the one-story building. He hand been instructed to show the scrap of parchment to the guardians of the house at the edge of town, but as he saw no sentinels he could only show the parchment to the gargoyles. He held it up to one, then the other. If the statues noticed, they gave no sign.

Several minutes of standing ten feet away from the house, hearing nothing but his own breath, convinced the drunken rogue to walk onward. After being convinced, it took another five heartbeats to find the courage. His ginger walk toward the house was taken without removing his eyes from the gargoyles for a moment. He slowly advanced to the door with the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. The dank smell of the wind blowing over the aqueduct turned his stomach, but that was not hard to do with so much ale in it. His queasiness became a sort of vertigo as his vision blurred and his knees felt that they would buckle. The dizziness and spinning were only momentary, though, and he reached out to take the knocking ring. His hand retracted, a moment of doubt setting in. Steeling his drunken resolve, he grabbed it in a white knuckled death-grip and knocked three times.

The wispy, balding head sprung up from the velvet covered table with a start, eyes full of malice narrowing with the rheumy look of a waking dreamer. His yellowed teeth gritted and a hiss escaped them, one wizened claw curling into a fist and coming down with a muffled thump on the purple velvet. He looked into the distorted features that stared back at him and realized that he had once again fallen asleep while scrying. Visions of the dreamscapes where his subconscious had drifted while unaware nearly overtook him, but he pushed them back. His nimble, practiced mind had dealt with the overwhelming sensation many times. It was not all that unpleasant, but he avoided it as he avoided most pleasant distractions when he could. He was not a man who would allow himself to be diverted from his studies or his mission by pleasures or sensations. His age-induced folly, however, was not something that he would blame himself for. After all, he thought to himself, how could a perfect being error? Since one could not, he gave it no mind and instead transferred his attention to the accursed knocking on the door that had woken him from his sleep.

Stomping as hard as his scarecrow frame could manage on the creaky floorboards, the wispy-haired magician pulled on his green silk robe over his shabby tunic and baggy breeches. One sandal slipped off of his foot as he irately marched toward the door, and he bitterly cursed before stomping back to slip it back onto his foot.

"Who would dare come visit me at this hour?" He sourly griped aloud, taking a malicious and futile kick at the nimble gray cat who kept his house free of vermin. The creature was too wise to his ways after all this time.

* * *

_Half past the middle of the night, and still work to be done_ The Laughing Rogue lamented.

Deneri Daggermaster had lost his cool once the vertigo had set in, and quickly told the masked man everything that he had wanted to know about the dagger, as well as some insight to where the dockside thieves had acquired the teleportation rings. Both the dagger and the rings had recently became black market items that were illegal within the walls of Waterdeep by order of the lords. The had still been cropping up just as often because of how simple they were to smuggle. Still, the Rogue jumped at the chance to find a supplier, because with enough patience one could follow such a chain to the mastermind behind the smuggling. Smugglers and thieves tended to stick close together, and were often very picky and preferential regarding their contacts. It was how he had discovered the dockside thieves, after all, by first finding the merchants that were selling the stolen goods and following the money back to the thieves and their hideout.

He squatted like a gargoyle on a nearby tower and watched Daggermaster run into the darkness. He had simply given the man a warning and emphasized that he had no quarrel with him. Sending him on his way might not have been the best decision, but it was what felt right to him. Often, following instinct was the greater part of his judgment. He looked off into the night, pondering his next move. Although his hideout was beckoning and the prospect of getting a half night's rest before assuming his daytime identity was more attractive by the moment, he knew that he had to persevere. He had, after all, gotten a very valuable piece of information from Daggermaster. Now he knew the name of the magician that was supplying the dangerous magical items. One sorcerer that went by the name of Malsium the Diviner. As luck would have it, he had already made the man's acquaintance...

* * *

"So that is the whole story, Malsium." The cracking voice of the intoxicated pickpocket wheezed out.

The green-robed wizard sat with the look of the unconvinced.

"So..." the diviner began, slowly rolling the word "What you are saying is that you wish me to uncover the true identity of the laughing Rogue with my magic, tell you, and save your ratty hide."

"Exactly!" the thief chirped in drunken awe "how did you know."

The Wizard simply smiled, as if to a child, and said "I have my ways."

Thieves and ruffians had been very good to the Wizard since he came to Waterdeep. The multitude of magical items he had avariciously acquired in his travels often proved useless to him, but easily and profitably salable in the circles such rogues frequented. Money was something that had always been indispensable to him in the course of his spell research, and often more helpful than this or that enchanted item. They were also ridiculously easy to barter with when it came to rare and precious spell components, which mostly appeared to be junk to them. For this reason alone was he suffering the presence of the dirty thief, calculating his usefulness to him.

Deciding to reserve judgment, the wizard said "What is it that could be possibly be in it for me?"

"I knew that you would ask." The tipsy thief said with a cocky grin.

A moment passed, and in the dangling silence both the wizard and the thief simply looked at each other. The rogue scratched his nose and the Wizard pulled his beard. Another few moments passed, then another, then...

"Well?" Malsium asked sharply.

"What were we talking about again?" the thief asked.

The spell caster simply sighed.

* * *

The Laughing Rogue sat by the grimy windowsill and did not have to strain his unusually sharp eavesdropping skills in order to overhear the conversation. The entire discourse from before the point of the scrawny thief's proposal had been of great amusement to the masked man. A great many people had tried to find out his identity over the years, and now this filthy thief had staked his life on finding it out without any real clue to it. Coming to the wizard was obviously an act of desperation and the fact that he was quite drunk showed that it was also ill considered. _This is all very interesting indeed_, the rogue thought as he sat cloaked in shadow. Deep in his roguish soul he felt a twinge of pity for the thief, for he knew of the rapacious cruelty Rashan of Calimport reveled in. Given the choice between taking Malsium to task about selling contraband and getting an opportunity to put the malicious southerner in his place, he would most definitely take the latter. Already, his cunning mind was devising a devilish plan...

* * *

"And stay out until you have something to offer!" The Wizard bellowed as his invisible servant literally swept the pickpocket out of the front door with a broom.

Jaken landed on his chin with a thud, tasting the small tang of his blood as his teeth clacked together. His unhealthy gums did not like impacts of that sort, and tended to complain in liquid form. The Rogue had been so sure that he would have been able to talk the wizard into some sort of compromise. He had wanted only one thing... cold hard gold. 5000 pieces of it to be exact. He had even presented him with an itemized bill for spells that he would need to cast and the things he would need to cast them. He had been so certain that the sorcerer would have had something that he had needed, like a rare but otherwise worthless item needed for a spell or some kind of magical relic that he needed pilfered from a nearby dungeon. It was almost always easy to gather together a few adventurous types to help out with things like that, usually only for the promise of a fair cut of any treasure. But the wizard had turned his nose up at the suggestion. Obviously he was not too fond of the barter system.

As he rose to his knees, Jaken realized that there was no reasonable way that he could steal enough to sate the diviner's outrageous price. He couldn't safely fence enough stolen jewels to get that balance. Transport carts didn't just roll through the city with that much currency, or at the very least he could set up some kind of heist.

There was no way that he could pay the magician what he asked, so it was useless to break his back with scheming. Just at those moments when it seemed that life was the most hopeless, Jaken had always found that a ray of hope had arrived to keep him going.

This instance was no exception to that rule, much to his surprise.

"Ha-HA!" a laugh cracked the silence of the night. Standing not 20 feet away from the downtrodden thief was the black, gray-cloaked figure of the masked man known as the Laughing Rogue of Waterdeep. At his feet was a dirty man that the rogue was happily hog-tying in front of an irritated young lady in squalid clothing.

"Tymora's teeth!" the half-sober pickpocket hissed as he took to the shadows and watched what transpired.

"There is no need to thank me, milady!" the masked man said with a flourish.

"Thank you for what?" the whore spat "Scaring away all my business."

"See?" the Rogue smiled "The perfect gratitude for a good night's work!"

With a spinning salute the rogue sprung like a frog nearly ten feet straight up, where he grabbed the arm of a street lamp and pulled himself up to balance his feet on it. This was the perfect opportunity for Jaken, a golden opportunity that the thief had only had twice before. Both times he had seen how the rogue departed the scene and promised himself that the next time he saw him he would trail him. He would have said the same thing this time, having not the courage to match his audacity, but this time he was convinced that if he let the opportunity fade that there would not be a next time.

Slinking from shadow to shadow, he watched as the Rogue leapt from rooftop to rooftop. He marveled at the acrobatics, for it all seemed so impossible to him. He had seen the many amazing things that magic could do, but surely there was only so much magic that one Rogue could have at his disposal. When he finally came to ground it was with incredible grace and with barely a sound. The Rogue then ducked into a back alley, and the slinking cutpurse had followed. He saw the masked man easily crawl into a low cellar window barely big enough for a dog to squirm through. With trepidation did he follow from shadow to shadow, keeping an eye on the Rogue even as he tried to keep himself concealed. Everything depended on this. He could feel a surge of his own breath that felt as if it came from his pounding heart as he padded toward the window, whose shutters had closed behind the rogue. He found a concealing heap of trash next to the window, and nestled into it in defiance of the smell. He was among the best eavesdroppers in the north (or so he certainly thought) and he was determined to use those skills to his advantage.

"So all went well?" The first voice that he heard asked gruffly.

"Yes. They will not suspect a thing." The sardonic voice that he recognized as the Rogue stated.

"The fight was well staged?" the gruff voice queried again.

"Yes indeed, and the magical illusion was flawless!" The Rogue laughed "He looked like a mirror image! As convincing as the illusion that I wear."

"You know that my spells are of the best quality." The gruff voice stated with a harrumph.

"Yes, and my identity will be forever secure because of them!" The rogue laughed "For everybody saw the Laughing Rogue fight Deneri Daggermaster, and those that did not will surely spread the word... and how after all could I possibly fight myself?"

It hit the half-drunk thief like a sack of bricks, as a spot of false dawn appeared on the horizon. His addled senses took the spot of light as a sign of salvation. As he skulked off down the alleyway he pondered how he could ever make the cruel Calshite believe his story. He had no idea that eyes observed his departure through a peephole next to the window frame.

Thus the night ended where it began, in a dripping cellar with one lone masked man smiling into a mirror. Tomorrow he would move his hideout, for he had such places all over the city. He thought that his mimicry of voices could use a little work, as the voice he was pitching barely sounded gnomish at all. Still, from the reaction that he had seen through the window he was fairly sure that he had caused enough mischief for one night. Tomorrow would be another day... and another night to follow.

_So that's all folks! Does anybody want to read any other zany Waterdeep adventures? Let me know!_


End file.
